Yoga: a necessity

I have been known to catch centipedes and spiders in houses and release them outdoors. 

But bugs should be sure not to mess with me on a getting-acquainted-with-India sort of day.  On days when I’ve been fighting for everything – crossing the what is technically 4 lanes of traffic but that is actually 8 or 9 lanes, bargaining for a still overpriced autorickshaw ride, trying to figure out where the hell you actually are and where you want to be, cursing at the electricity outages, and so on.  On those days, I fear, the unfamiliar black flying object that has been irking me for the past half an hour receives the brunt of my aggravation (and his demise, sadly). 

My Zen has been off lately. 

I for real need to start this yoga stuff.  (Hey roommates and other fellows, this needs to happen.)  I’ve joked that there is a reason that India is the place where yoga thrives.  People need some meditation and physical release to restore patience and peace of mind.  It’s only funny because it is so outrageously true.

Yoga is a yes, a must, I think.

Also, various pictures from the Heritage tour in the Old City last weekend:
 

Charminar

7 am tours sound good in theory

 

Old City before it gets crowded

Mischief: hoppin' the mosque fence

Clocktower

Palace grounds

Clearly enthralled by the tour

Technical difficulties

At the immigration office the other day, I sat from 9 am until 4 pm ‘registering’ as a foreign resident of India.  I’m not exactly sure what registering means since I already have a visa; except that I know that if I didn’t do it within 2 weeks of arrival I wouldn’t be allowed to leave the country.  I also know that it was a huge, bureaucratic pain in the behind.  From filling in the application online to the mountains of paperwork to the accusatory questions, it was not a pleasant experience. 

To top it off, the day we registered, the office was suffering from ‘technical difficulties’ and we had to wait to receive our very official certificate printed on ordinary printer paper that is stamped manually.  Is there really that much that could go technically wrong with this process?  Apparently so.  And with over 100 people waiting for the same thing, it was a cluster fluster in the Old Airport.  A long one…

This should be a ubiquitous sign: ONLY if what should be working happens to actually be working.

But this didn’t surprise me, really.  Not after 10 days of auto drivers and internet provider searching and applications and rolling blackouts.  This is the way things are – ‘technical difficulties.’ There are so many multitudes of highs and lows in a single day that it seems as if I’ve been here a month.  I feel as if I’ve been operating under a state of mild irritation for the past several days.  Maybe it started at the immigration office, or maybe that was the height of it. 

This feeling is escalated by the fact that it’s difficult to talk to the people in my life who understand me, who understand why all of these things are affecting me the way that they are.  Instead I am getting to know (wonderful) new people who just may not relate to the way I feel about all this delay and enthusiasm and not-yet-being-productive-ness.  I’m tired and feeling a bit not myself.

You’ve experienced technical difficulties before.  So, you know how I feel – frustrated.  (But then something wonderful happens, like a fantastic conversation or seeing the lit up Buddha in the lake or recognizing the part of town you are in or finally getting the internet and talking to your mom, and you smile again.)

There has been a request for more pics.  Some views of monsoon-rain/clouds-views from the apt:

P.S. I now know why chocolate is not largely common here.  It's not that it's so hot and rainy all the time, but it is always a kind of moist (at least during the rainy season thus far).  Chocolate gets melt-y.  But it is still comforting.

Hospitality

Our neighbors stopped by the other day wanting to know if they could recommend a maid service.  The couple seemed friendly; and because we are in desperate need of internet access at our place and because we’ve been told to get to know our neighbors and use them as resources, my roommate asked if they had WiFi, and how did they get it. They said their daughter could help. 

We visited them at their apartment the following day to follow up on this offer.  We were warmly greeted, enthusiastically asked to please sit, and offered tea and chatting.  While the lady of the house made deliciously sweet, milky tea and the man of the house went to the bank, we got to know their daughter who is around our age and has a precious son, Rohan. 

Rohan, maybe a bit shy, disguised himself as a ghost under his grandmother’s scarf and went about his day – taking his paints from here to there and playing with toys.  Meanwhile, we quizzed our generous hostess about getting gas to our apartment, internet services available, and obtaining water tanks for our home.  She likewise asked us what we are doing in Hyderabad, where we are from, what are our degrees in. 

She works for an American software company based in Scottsdale, Arizona.  When we told her we are working in nonprofits in the education sector, she replied, “The world is topsy-turvy.  I work for an American company and you come here to do social work.”  How much truth there is in that statement, huh?

We left glad to our neighbor, glad to have her on our side – finding needed numbers for us, giving us the name of a pizzeria that delivers, and being a friendly face. 

Later we were down the street at the banana cart.  We asked about the price.  Realizing that we had no clue how much is reasonable in Hyderabad and knowing that we are consistently, frustratingly ripped off, we called one of our colleagues who is from Delhi to ask, “How much do bananas cost?”  (How hilarious is that?  Can you imagine calling up a colleague to ask such a thing?) 

We were being overcharged and so she told us to give the phone to the banana vendor.  We handed him the phone and (laughing at our own incompetence that our friend should try her hand at mobile bargaining) we listened to the barter go down in Hindi.  He lowered the price and sold us a large bunch of bananas for 35 rupees.  Yet another kindness we are grateful for in our first weeks here.

Later that night an uncle and aunt and grandmother of a friend of a roommate stopped by to bring us cookies and helped us with our initial logistical questions and concerns.  Auntie and grandmother were concerned that we could not yet cook for ourselves – me too! – and uncle is going to help us with all of these things we seem to need.  They were beyond gracious and supportive. 

The hospitality we’ve received, once you really meet people, is outstanding.  These people we have met are so willing to offer such kindness to us, we who are strangers really.  They have treated us as family.  Their openness and caring reminds me of my own family, of home.  For the phone numbers, for the advice, for the mobile bargaining (who knew!), thank you!

Club India

 Club India. The name of the club was actually 10 Downing Street, or 10 D as the local 20-somethings call it.  And it was something straight out of 1920 – complete with smoke and bar hands wearing bowties and a feeling that drinking alcohol is just a little rebellious and risqué.  And there was karaoke.  Some pretty awesome karaoke – all the classics, the 90s, and the occasional #1 hits of today – all under a chandelier and stained glass.

Every once in a while, the DJ announced that it was time for a hustle – which is similar to the electric slide, but danced to almost any song imaginable, including a reggae gem called “Give me hope, Jo’hanna.”  The hustle, I swear, turns the ‘club’ into something straight out of a Bollywood movie.  Everyone immediately piles onto the dance floor and dances in a choreographed style – all dancing well, I might add.  (I am terrible at group dance, btw. My lack of rhythm is prominent when everyone is doing the same moves.)

 

The night was fun and later than expected. It was nice to see the young (‘the new’) India.  It was very different, yet very hip also.  There’s a definite sense of style to it all.  I’m not sure that that is a clear description of the experience.  Some things can’t be explained.  You should come.  See it for yourself (with me!).

 

Bonalu Festival: first of many festivals

Attending the first Hindi festival in Hyderabad came on the same day of the first heavy rains. 

After a semi-productive day of shopping on Sunday, which included the purchases of dish soap, dishes, a (maybe useless) internet router, and tape, we heard that there was a festival nearby.  Drums and music had filled the air all afternoon.  Check it out? Of course!

We took a walk through the muddy, polluted road water, past the garbage dump – the smell rank after the rain.  Chicken remains – feet, bones, feathers – and assorted intestines lined the road where dogs feasted.   

Yes, vegetarianism looks real good from where I am standing.

The incense from the festival was a welcome gust of pleasantry.  We arrived at the temple alit and full of people.  Observation was our goal.  But we seemed to be the ones on display.  These devotees had their Westerner-radar on high.  We were quietly observing from across the street, yet many heads turned to watch us.  So we snapped a few pictures and began to return home. 

Halfway down the road a couple of men stop us:

‘Do you want to come and see inside the temple?  We can arrange for you to pray, be blessed, and receive food?’

We look at each other with blank stares.  Should we?  Is this allowed?  Is it disrespectful? Who is this guy? Do we want to? He repeats,

‘Come and see the goddess.  You can pray.’

Again, we share ‘I don’t know’ looks with one another.

‘Do you understand English?’

‘Haha, yes, we understand English.  Yes, ok.’

So we walk back with him as he explains that this is the goddess who will protect the area from disasters.  We take off our shoes.  There is a man videotaping us and everyone is staring.  We walk up the temple’s stone stairs that lead to the altar.  Flowers, bright fabrics, floral and sandal wood scents (among others).  We wait until our unofficial guide goes into the altar area.  (Kamrin is given a baby to hold while we wait – he is adorable.)

We go into the altar with about fifteen other people.  Prayers, blessings, bell ringing, fragrant smoke wafting – I wafted with my left hand, oops!, this is a no-no.  Finally we were anointed with a red substance on our foreheads.  We are given bags of rice as we leave.  Re-shoed – feet so gross – we began our walk home again.  Thank you!

They were very welcoming and it was quite the experience.  Initiated into India, I think so. (What did I tell y'all about this hair? It's a mess.)

Senses engaged

I am utterly grateful for a single room.  At the end of the day (by the middle of the day, really), I am in desperate need of space and (relative) quiet.

Early morning city noises: horns, birds, bustle woke me the first few days.

While sitting in the mobile phone shop the other day, I thought about all the animals-from-games we seem to be:

• Frogs trying not to be squished crossing the road
• Chickens playing on the road clucking our horns – ‘you move first, I will not brake,’ our autorickshaws seem to say silently to one another as they swerve through oncoming traffic
•  Fish trying to find a match – ‘do you know the way to Lower Tank Bund’ ‘how much will it cost to drive us there’  ‘Go Fish’

And try again later.

The smells of India are interchanging.  You can’t decide whether to breathe it in or not.  One moment it tempts you with curries and buttery bread.  The next it forbids it with putrid garbage and exhaust fumes.

Sitting on the balcony in the evening, the bustle of the street ringing below still stirs me.   

I’ve become very tired very quickly the past several days.  There are a myriad of reasons for that: limited caffeine, some jet lag, a lot of emotions, and so on.  But mostly I think it’s the bombardment of stimuli that assaults nonstop.  Even in the evening up on the balcony, there is music blasting, the ever present incessant honking of cars, dogs barking, construction noises – drill, hammer, chisel, bang bang, whirrrr –, people calling out, birds squawking, flash of car lights.

Have I ever mentioned that I like quietude? – Get thee to an ashram! – All this noise zaps my energy.

And on the ground it’s cars whooshing by, people staring, harassing, begging, cars whooshing by, staid water to avoid, smells accosting, cars whooshing by, things being sold, life to observe…and did I mention, cars about to hit you?  Senses, overloaded.

On the upside, one sense that is happily engaged is my sense of taste.  Some wonderful dishes thus far:

• Biryani – of the egg variety, which is a boiled egg, not fried as I thought it would be.  A spicy and aromatic rice dish, it was scrumptious.
• Tamarind rice. Nutty flavored aromatic rice.
• Paneer Tikka with Roti. A curry style dish with buttery flat bread.  Yum! (I could eat this bread all day.)
• Chapati!  (Throw back to Tanzania, here.)
• Vegetable Dosas. A savory vegetable filling inside a crepe-like wrap.

 More to come on this! (Once the stove arrives and the gas is turned on, perhaps some cooking??)

Setting up house

I could write a book about the journey from Atlanta to Hyderabad.  I could write about how many times my passport was checked, how many times I went through security, how I spilled orange juice all over everything no more than 20 minutes into the longest flight, how awesome the views were.. I could write a book.

But nobody wants to read about that.  My sister sent an email asking about my apartment, so I’ll start there – you have to appeal to the masses, right?

The stats on the apt: I share a three bedroom, three bathroom apartment with three other fellows.  My single bedroom came with a spare bed – come visit! – which we’ve converted into a couch for the living room. The rooms are spacious – my bedroom is larger than the living room in my Decatur apartment.  There is a sizable living area, a small kitchen, and four small balconies (with a great view of the lake).  The floors are made of marble and tile.

Sounds pretty great, huh?  It has its hitches, of course.  

My toilet didn’t flush.  (Prior to this morning, I had to fill up a bucket and pour water down it in order to make it “flush.”) The beds are not quite beds, but actually are raised pieces of wood with a flimsy, futon-esque “mattress”. There is no A/C, but our ceiling fans are amazingly awesome.  Our 2-eyed stovetop is currently at another fellows’ apartment. (They are bringing it to us on Thursday.)  We have to rent a fridge and have it delivered.  (This will be done tonight.)  When I first discovered that there was no fridge or stovetop, I was slightly (ok, majorly) depressed.   

The neighborhood: The apartment is a part of a larger complex with “guards” that doze off from time to time and a couple of guard dogs that are cute and seem unlikely to be attacking anything.  There are renovations of epic proportions going on in the apartment next to ours, which means construction debris and noise clog our doorway and ears.

The area where we live is largely residential.  Outside of a couple of shop-stalls and a tiny temple, there are only some tin shanties on our road proper.  On the next road, there is the amusement park, Snow World, where artificial snow falls on the hour and people can throw snowballs at one another, according to Lonely Planet.  Next to Snow World is the local dump, which from time to time gives off malodorous aromas.  Across the highway is the lake with a statue of Buddha perched in the center of it.  Lovely parks and amusements surround the lake.

Adventures in setting up house in India:

• We traveled to two “Big Bazaars” and a couple of malls in three days until we finally found an internet router, only to find out that this may not work in our apartment.  (I currently post from the IDEX office.) On the way, one roommate was gently hit by an autorickshaw.  We were all hit by the frustration of being sent to the wrong, same places over and over.
• Does anyone know where to get keys copied in Lower Tank Bund?  No?  No Home Depot around the corner, huh?
• We sat in a teensy, busy mobile phone shop for close to an hour waiting for Yasmin’s SIM card to be cut for her i-Phone.  Yes, they cut it to fit.  And yes, after visiting another shop, it did work. 
•  Did you know that you need a copy of your passport, proof of residence, and a passport photo of yourself in order to get internet installed, get a mobile phone, and do just about anything else in India?  I know, now.

Listen, all we really want is the internet.  Life is just easier with the inter-webs, y'all.  Google maps would be uber-helpful at this moment.

Ok, ok, maybe we also want a fridge and a stove.  Is this too much to ask?  Maybe so! 

Introduction to missing (Pre-departure)

The most common response from people in my inner circle when I tell them that I am going to India for a year is: “I’m happy for you, but I’ll miss you.”   

I’ll miss you too.  This is undoubtedly true.  But if I don’t go, I think I might be missing my life. 

There is so much that I intend to miss over the next 10 months - people, pets, holidays, and so on and so on.  But there is much, much, much that I intend to experience - things you are missing by not coming with me.. Are you sure you don't want to come with me?  It's ok, I understand.

Here, I will share all these things that we are missing - what I am missing being away and what you are missing being back home.  Much of this will come to you in list and photograph form. 

e.g.:

My initial thoughts on going to India:

• Maybe I’ll finally take up yoga and find some inner peace.
• Here’s to hoping that this little (not so little) pink computer lasts one more year.
• I’ll have to learn to shop again…eek.  (I hate shopping.)
• I’ll join the modern world and use Skype.
• Try to meet up with the Bombay Laughter Club on Marine Drive, Mumbai.
• It’s going to be hot.  Lots of sunscreen will be used.
• It is highly probable that I won’t shave my legs for a year. 
• Festivals!
• I don’t know what I’m going to do about this hair. 
• I don’t know how to pronounce anything.  (Damn French.)
• OOOO, a sunset at Taramati Baradari.  Nothing quite gets to me like a good sunset.
• Apparently, decent cheap wine and chocolate are hard to find in India.  Uh-oh… What have I agreed to??
• I sweat in the winter.  This is going to be ridiculous.

Sending my love from the confines of packing a suitcase at the moment.